


Tumble Into Oceanic Death

by palomino333



Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Inspired by Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3768934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a flash fiction challenge: random words. "Maybe she could just stumble and fall, sucked into the gutter, and it would carry her out to the Pacific." Set before and during "The White Shoe Slaying."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tumble Into Oceanic Death

"Oh, no!"

Punch splashed up from the bowl as Theresa's earring fell into it.

"Too bad, dear. I suppose you're used to this sort of thing." She sharply prodded Muriel away, her half-drunken "friend's" hypocritical humor giving her a bitter taste in her mouth.

She grasped the ladle in order to fish it out. This night was a misery, and Lars did not care as usual, being too busy playing cards in the other room to notice.

 

"It's beautiful," Theresa whispered, reaching out a hand toward the glistening water. Her other hand held down her scarf.

Lars picked up her hand, and extended her finger out to the ocean beyond. "You haven't seen the Pacific, have you?"

"No, not yet," she replied, leaning into him, her lips a few inches from his throat, "Have you?"

Tilting up her chin, he kissed her softly. Drawing out, he replied, "Some places, yes. We could see the ocean together."

"An adventure?" She asked wistfully.

"If you want to go," he replied.

 

"Mommy?"

Theresa groaned, her head in her hands. She muttered under her breath at her skirt being tugged on, and looked down to see her younger daughter staring up at her, rocking slightly forward on the balls of her feet. "What is it, sweetie?" She asked, barely managing to keep her tone polite.

"Am I still going to see Sally today?"

Shit, she'd forgotten. Well, maybe if Lars hadn't been out so late last night, she wouldn't have thought of drinking. Lying son of a bitch, when she found out just what he was up to…

"Sweetie, I'm sorry, Mommy's a little sick right now."

Hanna's lips quivered, and her hands dropped to her sides. Theresa, grimacing with the effort, sat up to hold her arms out to her.

"I want my Mommy!" Hanna screamed, "I want my Mommy, my real Mommy! Not you! My mommy didn't drink medicine just because she liked to get sick a lot!" At that, Hanna turned on her heel and ran out of the room, tears brimming in her eyes.

Theresa dropped her head back into her hands, and cried.

 

Los Angeles was a giant punch bowl to Theresa as she stumbled through the streets, the rain pelting her. She was the best that sailor could get, a gem compared to the trashy whores at the docks, and he brushed her off as old?

What a horrible night, her earring dyed in punch, her husband flirting with a younger woman, and her being brushed off by a young man. Even the sitter was doing a better job than her. Maybe she could just stumble and fall, sucked into the gutter, and it would carry her out to the Pacific. Lars never did keep his promise to her.

Maybe that was why Theresa stumbled toward that strange figure. The strangling rope about her neck drew her slowly down, and the bludgeon forced her head under the dark water.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Random Words. Choose one verb, noun, and adjective from the master list, and make a sentence. Use it in your story, or as the title. (I did the latter)  
> Words: 491
> 
> Inspired by the song, "Swimming Pools," by Kendrick Lamar. 
> 
> I will say this right now: I DO NOT like Theresa Taraldsen. While I understand that she and Lars had marital issues, and he was also not perfect, she was self-righteous and self-centered. I don't much like Lars either, to be quite frank. That being said, it was interesting to write this story, though I sometimes wonder why whenever I write stories featuring water as a main motif, they tend to be sad in tone.


End file.
